


My Roommate from Hell

by LittleMissOverlord



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26929603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissOverlord/pseuds/LittleMissOverlord
Summary: Warlock and his university roommate have a bit more in common than you would expect at first glance....
Relationships: The Them & Adam Young (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	My Roommate from Hell

**Author's Note:**

> This has literally been sitting in my unfinished drafts pile since I think 2016 I'm really sorry for any inconsistencies in style and tone but I Cannot Be Bothered to fix them. Again, je suis très désolée.

Warlock knew growing up, on an intellectual level, that his home life was weird. He knew that normal children, even measured by the somewhat extraordinary standards of his friend group, which consisted mostly of the children of diplomats and music stars that never left the house without a pair of sunglasses and at least five tall men with loaded guns around them, were not sung lullabies about the seven circles of purgatory at bedtime. He also knew that normal children, even those poor souls who grew up without video games and mega transformer toys that could flash lights and say nifty things when you pushed a button on the back[1], did not spend hours sitting in the flowerbeds by the garden shed while the gardener pulled seemingly endless amounts of insects, birds, and other small critters from his pockets and told them to love and respect each and every one. But it took another seven years after the weird business on the mountain in Israel, a divorce (not his), and a court appointed therapist[2] until it really hit him on an emotional level.

Following this revelation, Warlock (who usually went by Luke these days, and was, in fact, planning to change his name as soon as he figured out how to break the news to his mother, who, to this day, insisted ‘Warlock’ was lucky) spent a lot of time asking, nay, _interviewing_ every one of his friends about their childhood. And consuming copious amounts of alcohol. Usually at the same time. All his friends strongly supported both the drinking and the examining because, as they had soon found out, Warlock told stories about his own childhood if he was deep enough in, and this was always good for a laugh. Two months after Warlock’s first therapy session, most of his extended social circle could recite Nanny Ashtoreth’s version of This Little Satanic Piggy in their sleep. Some of the more medically experimental had even become Satanists, ironically of course. Unbeknownst to them, Down Below did not, in fact, care about irony, and their names were marked in a big book with the title ‘Reservations’, with a footnote about a room with a view.

Warlock’s therapist, who had not graduated with the best marks but tried his best, decided four months in that he was as healed as he was going to get, gave him a diary and the instruction to use it, and his parents the ok to ship him off to college. The Dowlings[3] didn’t see eye to eye in many things, these days, but they could agree on one thing, and that was that Warlock needed a change of scenery. Having both been too preoccupied with their own quabbling and, thus, never having actually listened to their sons rants about his therapy sessions, they decided to fly him back to the country where he was born, in the hope of reconnecting him with his roots and the English country having a calming influence. Warlock, when he learned this, downed half a bottle of vodka and proceeded to call all of his friends to impart on them the infinite wisdom that could be found in Mr. Francis the gardener’s opinion on pesticides.

Warlock’s parents had paid a considerate amount of money to a man who then used a small part of that considerable amount, which was in itself not an amount to scoff at, to pay the right people to change some small, but very significant numbers on some short, but likewise very significant documents. As a result, Warlock was now enrolled in Oxford University, where he, allegedly, read Economics and Management. In reality, Warlock could be found sitting in the very back of Experimental Psychology lectures more often than not, and only ever attended Economics events or study groups when it could be safely assumed there would be cake, which was not very often.

The one recommendation the Dowlings had taken from their therapist was that Warlock should under no circumstances be given the chance to isolate himself socially, and that was the reason why the filthy rich son of an American cultural attaché did not, in fact, find himself with a nice flat or penthouse in the city, but in Jesus College, with a roommate. Though, most days, it felt more like four roommates, especially on weekends, when Adam’s friends had the time to make the drive.

Warlock didn’t know much about his roommate. In fact, everything he _did_ know about him was the sort of information you either knew at first glance or the sort that came with living with someone in very close quarters and having to learn a bit of their routine, because you couldn’t not. Warlock and Adam had very conflicting schedules[4], and were rarely home for longer than a few hours at the same time, and if they were, one or both of them were usually asleep. What Warlock knew about Adam was this: Adam had the kind of face that inspired a man to quote either Homer or Catullus, depending on his personal inclination towards men, Adam neither read books or comics nor did he play video games, and Adam had appalling habits concerning laundry, especially socks. Adam, in contrast, knew a great deal about Warlock. 

The first and only time they had a real conversation during the full duration of their first semester, Warlock found himself uncomfortably reminded of his old tutors growing up, and tried to avoid any further personal interaction in the future, in which he largely succeeded, mostly due to his erratic sleep schedule.

.

Starting second semester, a few things changed. For one, Warlock, who until then had mostly been hearing about developmental psychology and occasionally economic models and the five golden rules for success[5], was introduced to the concept of the unconscious mind, and the idea that the healthiest thing to do about that was to talk about your childhood. He stopped attending his Economics lectures altogether. For another, Adam, who had been caught in the act of replacing a notorious theology professors Bible with another edition which seemed to be identical but, on further inspection, was revealed to contain a highly insulting passage about said Professors personal habits[6], had been banned from attending lectures outside of his subject area.

Adam, who’s schedule had thus been cut down considerably, started spending a lot more time at home. Warlock, who didn’t have that big a schedule to begin with, started spending a lot more time running into him.

This resulted in a weird sort of juxtaposition: Both Adam and Warlock spent a lot of time in the same rooms, sitting within a few feet of each other, and studiously ignoring each other while desperately trying to seem terribly busy and interesting.

After some time, they had established a sort of silent routine: At six in the morning, Adam would get up and disappear through the door. Warlock, who was a light sleeper, would spend about half an hour mentally debating the pros and cons of bringing this alarming habit up with Adam, and then fall asleep again. When Warlock got up, usually some time around noon, there would usually be a somehow still warm pastry in a bag sitting on the coffee table for him. Warlock repaid this small kindness by always ordering too much takeout and putting the leftovers in the fridge, where they would disappear from within a few hours of their placement. In the afternoon, Warlock attended his Psychology lectures, and Adam his study group. Warlock was usually home first, and spent the time until Adam came grumbling about laundry and hygiene and walking around their rooms picking up socks and sorting them into a hamper, where they presumably died. How Adam, who seemed the kind of person who wouldn’t know what to do with a laundry machine if he had built it, didn’t run out of clean clothes to wear, was a great mystery to Warlock[7]. In the evening they’d sit around in the living room, Warlock watching TV, Adam watching, but not the TV, and tried to ignore each other’s existence.

This was not to say they didn’t like each other, or didn’t consider each other friends. In fact, it is almost impossible to live with another person for almost a year and not at least privately consider them at least someone you were friendly with. They just both found it would be awkward to talk to each other after such a long time of almost complete silence. They both had a sense that there was a certain way certain things should be done, and once you’ve started not talking, it would be impolite to go back on that sentiment and suddenly try to get to know a person. Either you were all buddy-buddy from the start or you weren’t, but once you had chosen a path, you had to commit to it.

This would’ve gone on for quite some time, maybe even until one or both of them graduated, if it hadn’t been for Adams friends or, more specifically, for Adams one girl friend, Pepper, who had grown up with a single mother who had taught her daughter to value communication above all[8], and as a result, was deeply unimpressed by the unspoken arrangement between the two young men.

The only reason Pepper even found out about the roommate situation was because Warlock did not fly home over Easter, but all his friends did, which resulted in all of Adams friends spending more than five minutes in the same room with him when they came to visit Adam, who had also stayed in Oxford over Easter, because Mr. and Mrs. Young, now that both children were finally out of the house, had at last fulfilled their life-long dream of going on a world cruise with one of them big fancy white ships, the kind that had a twenty meter pool on the top deck and a jumbo-shrimp-all-you-can-eat-megabuffet every evening, and could not be expected back in England for another two months. 

The first real interaction Warlock had with the Them went like this: Warlock, who was vacuuming behind the couch, hit his toe and proceeded to swear loudly. Brian and Wensleydale, who had just appeared in the door, respectively expressed their agreement and that Warlocks use of the possessive additive was, in fact, incorrect, which prompted Pepper, who was standing behind both of them, to push them out of the way and say something very snide about men being a barrier to women in all parts of life, apparently not only in the metaphorical but also in the physical sense.

Which prompted all three men in the room to make a loud exclamation of protest, even Warlock, who had not, technically, been involved in the incident Pepper was being snide about. When Adam stepped in the room, there was a full blown three-against-one argument going on, though the way Pepper was holding her own you could have thought she had a whole army or enraged Amazonian Warriors backing her up.

“It’s not as if we were holding you back _intentionally_.”, Brian was saying. “It’s not as if we were blocking the door because we didn’t _want_ you to come in.”

Adam blinked and cleared his throat.

Nobody noticed him.

“And even if we _were_ , the systematic oppression of women doesn’t come from us blocking the door _once_.”, added Wensleydale, who had been reading up on his feminist theory lately. “Systematic oppression of women would be if we blocked the door for _every_ woman, _all_ the time. That’s why it’s systematic.”

Pepper, who recognized an in when she saw one, drew herself up to her full, not-very-impressive height of almost five foot four, and still managed to tower over every single one of the men present, all of which were at the very least three inches taller than her, even when they _didn’t_ stand up straight as a rod.

“So you’re saying oppression is only bad when you do it often enough, then?” There was a certain mean glint in her eye that told the rest of the Them that it was high time to either apologize or, at the very least, vacate the premises for a very long time. And whatever they do, they better do it _quick_.

“So you’re saying,”, Pepper said, taking a menacing step forwards, “That if I oppress all of you _right now_ you wouldn’t even care if I only did it once?”

Brian and Wensleydale, who recognized the signs, started shaking their heads, mumbling something vaguely apologetic, and avoiding eye contact. Warlock, who was running high on two hours of sleep, an empty stomach because Adam had not yet returned from the shops with his customary morning pastry but the fridge was empty of the takeout put there yesterday evening anyways, and a heap of frustration and leftover adrenalin from the stubbed toe, squared his chin.

“Oh yeah?”, he asked. Nanny Ashtoreth may have raised a spoiled little tyrant, but she did not raise a coward. And neither did Brother Francis, for that matter[9]. “What are you gonna do then?”

Adam, who had still not been noticed by anyone in the room, decided that he should take advantage of that fact and started retreating slowly back into the hallway. Pepper, who had up to this point never even heard Warlock speak, looked a bit surprised.

“I’ll beat you up.”, she said, thinking quickly and arriving at the natural conclusion anyone who grew up with a group of boys would have come to when presented with the question what one was going to do, then, in _that_ tone of voice.

Adam, who had almost made it out of the door, cringed. Brain and Wensleydale gulped and started making desperate gestures towards Warlock, in the hope that he would get the message and _stop_ _already_. Warlock, who didn’t know Pepper’s reputation and only saw a small, somewhat boyish redhead with more freckles than skin, scoffed and made a face.

Pepper narrowed her eyes.

The next thing Warlock knew he was leaning over the sink, dripping blood from his nose onto the porcelain (mixed with just a tad of saltwater, not that he would ever admit it), Adam was holding his hair back and pressing a cold compress, which Warlock strongly suspected was actually the open bag of peas that had been sitting in the freezer since they moved in, wrapped in toilet paper, on the back of his neck, and everything was spinning ever so slightly.

“Sorry ‘bout that, mate.”, Adam was saying. “But you _really_ didn’t have to provoke her.”

“Howas _I_ to know.”, Warlock replied through a mouthful of blood and snot mixed with a few tears. “Howas _I_ to know thad she was such a _beasd_.”

He spat and gloomily watched the red glob slowly slide towards the drain. Adam, who couldn’t fathom how Warlock could have possibly managed to miss the memo about Pepper[10], shook his head.

“You know what?”, he said, already planning how he was going to get the rest of the Them to go along with what he was going to say next, “We’ll make it up to you. Howsabout we invite you to the pub this evening and Pepper’ll but you a pint.”

.

Warlock had agreed to the pint, but only because he _really_ couldn’t think of a good reason not to, and would have been quite happy to leave it at that, only Pepper, in the true spirit of communication, wouldn’t let him get out that easily. For the whole ten minutes it took Warlock to drink it down, she sat next to him at the bar, her own pint of Guinness in hand, and tried to make at least a semblance of very aggressive smalltalk, and Warlock, who was trying his best to get out of the situation as fast as he could, nonetheless found himself being bullied into answering her.

By the time Warlock had finished his drink, Pepper had discovered this: a) Warlock was weird, even by Pepper’s standards[11]; b) Warlock didn’t know the first thing about Adam, which was unacceptable considering how long they had been living together on paper; and c) Warlock was lonely. Really lonely, and not in the passing way that everyone in the world is sometimes.

No, Warlock was the kind of lonely that comes from having a great deal of friends but no one to talk to when you’re sad, the kind of lonely that comes from sitting alone on a couch, beer in hand, trying to get the cat to give you the time of day at your own birthday party while your guests are having a great time with the cake in the other room without you, the kind of lonely that comes from your parents getting a divorce and not asking you with which of them you would rather stay, because they both assume the other will take you. Warlock _seeped_ loneliness from all his pores, and Pepper, who could be cruel sometimes but was, fundamentally, a good person, wouldn’t stand for it.

“Right.”, she said, slamming down her Guinness and grabbing Warlock by the arm. Warlock, who had been about to get up and the hell out of dodge, flinched badly. Pepper gracefully ignored this and pulled him out of his chair. “You’re staying here with us and getting pissed.”

She steered him towards the table in the back where Adam, Brian and Wensley were sitting. Warlock briefly entertained an improbable fantasy where he wrenched his hand out of Pepper’s iron grip with a sudden burst of strength and then heroically made a run for it, but immediately though better of it when Pepper, who could sense these kinds of thoughts after over ten years of dragging Brian, Wensley and Adam around places they didn’t want to go, squeezed her hand ever so slightly. He was suddenly very aware of his still-throbbing nose.

“Oi.” Brian regarded Warlock with wide eyes. Behind him, Wensley looked like he was doing some very complicated maths in his head and Adam sighed as if he had already been expecting this but had nonetheless still hoped it wouldn’t happen[12]. “What’s all this then?”

Pepper shot him a withering look.

“He’s drinking with us at this table and you’re going to be _nice_ about it, that’s what this is.”, she hissed. Brian wisely shut his mouth and took another swig of his Rum-and-Coke-with-Sprite-instead-of-Coke. 

“So, Warlock.” Pepper had womanhandled Warlock into sitting on the empty chair next to Adam and had apparently decided to continue their one-sided conversation where she left off, if need be by force. “That’s an interesting name you have.”

The bar was curiously silent as Warlock figured out that he was, in fact, supposed to respond to that.

“Well.” He cleared his throat. And cleared it again. Under the force of the Them’s collective gazes, the lump he had in it seemed to grow back the very instant he had swallowed it. “The nuns in the hospital where mum gave birth said it was lucky.”

The silence continued.

“A name…fit for…a King of Hell…my Nanny always used to say.”

At this, Brian, Pepper and Wensley, having correctly assessed that Warlock’s stories about his Nanny were a comedic gold mine, lit up like a dry Christmas tree that’s been standing just a hair too close to the burning candles by the nativity display. Adam narrowed his eyes ever so slightly and, for a split second, entertained the thought that he had misheard. But Adam never misheard, so that thought was squashed almost as soon as it started flitting through his frontal cortex.[13] Wensley excitedly took off his glasses and rubbed them with the tails of his shirt, which did nothing to clean them but, admittedly, did look very mature and intellectual.

“Your old Nanny sure sounds like a barrel of fun.”, he said, hoping this would be enough to prompt Warlock into spilling a few beans. Warlock, in turn, was slowly beginning to feel the effects of that half-chugged pint on a still very much empty stomach and was very glad to be on familiar territory besides.

“Yeah, she was a real hoot.” Someone, presumably a member of the serving staff, set down a martini in front of him and Warlock grabbed at it gratefully. “I really loved her, you know? Nanny Ashtoreth she was called. I think she raised me more than my actual mother.” He took a big sip of the martini, not that he needed the encouragement. As a result of the whole learning about the unconscious mind thing, Warlock was always prepared to talk about Nanny these days, much to the chagrin of the cashiers at the local supermarket[14].

“She used to sing me those rhymes, you know. To fall sleep to.”

To the Them’s collective delight, Warlock then proceeded to not only recite This Little Satanic Piggy from memory, but also some lesser known Nanny classics, such as Ring Around the Sacrificial Altar, or The Fires of Hell Burn Brightly at Your Bidding.

The Them were positively besides themselves with laughter.

“Mate, that is the absolute best thing I’ve heard all week.” Brain was dribbling sprite from his nose and ignoring the disgusted looks Wensley was sending him over his beer. “Your childhood must have been absolutely _nuts_.”

Warlock, who was slowly warming up to the company, shrugged with the air of someone deliberately trying to play it cool because he knows exactly who out of it the thing he is going to say next is, and doesn’t want to ruin the comedic effect by seeming too excited.

“She wasn’t the only person on the staff, of course.”, he said, and took another sip of the martini. “We also had a gardener. His name was Francis.” Warlock crossed his legs and smirked into his glass as he felt Brian, Wensley and Pepper almost vibrate off of their chairs from sheer excitement next to him.

Adam was curiously still.

“He was basically the opposite of Nanny in every way imaginable. She was pointy, he was round. Nanny was so well dressed my Mom once actually asked to borrow a skirt from her, Francis wore stuff you might have fished out of the garbage. She sang me songs about quashing my enemies under the heel of my boot, he always told me to be a kind and gentle ruler like King Solomon, that kind of thing. Once, I was up late and looking for Nanny because I couldn’t sleep, and I found her on the lawn with a ten pound bag of salt, cursing up a storm, with Francis following her around and blabbering something about how every slug had a soul. And Nanny screeched ‘Not the ones in the blasted fucking roses, you big soft bastard!’, and Francis threatened to stop bringing her cake from their favorite bakery if she put salt in the flower beds.”

Pepper, who had switched her Guinness for a series of bright cocktails with significantly higher alcohol content, nodded wisely.

“They were fucking, weren’t they.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Warlock drowned the last of his martini. “Not that I noticed it growing up. ‘n not that they would ever admit it.”

There was a short silence, in which Warlock quietly debated with himself if he should get up and get another martini, only this time with more vodka and less olives, and the Them collectively came to a realization, namely that Adam hadn’t said a single thing throughout this whole supremely entertaining affair.

“Mate.”, Brian prompted gently. “Everything alright there? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Adam shook his head like a wet dog trying to maximize the droplet coverage in the dry living room it’s just stormed into.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. This Nanny and this Brother Francis person just remind me of this really weird pair I met a few years ago ‘s all.”

“Maybe they’re the same people.” Warlock had decided against the martini and was now stuffing pretzels in his mouth. “Maybe you ran into them somewhere after they quit. Where’d you grow up? Maybe they lived nearby.” He didn’t stop his chewing to speak, but by this time everyone was too wasted to notice.

“We’re from Tadfield.”, Wensley slurred. “That’s – “

“That’s right next to where I grew up!” Warlock was waiving his arms around excitedly and throwing pretzels everywhere. One of them landed on Pepper. “I’m from Upper Flowingsworth! Summerfield Manor! That’s where I used to live!”

Pepper inspected the pretzel and serenely popped it into her mouth. “You’re not from America? I thought you were from America.” The three boys nodded their agreement.

“Naaaaaah. Just ‘m ma 'n dad.”

Pepper nodded wisely.

„So. Your nanny. And that garderener.”

“What exactly did they look like?”, Adam interrupted. Warlock shrugged.

“Nanny always wore these reeeeeeeeel dark sunglasses, never tookem off, not even at night. ‘n she only wore black, looked superfuckingcool. ‘n Francis, Brother Francis, actually, he was always smiling, and he had these…blond curls, like you Adam only, only…more feathery. 'n he was usually dressed in white. Terrible idea. With the whole digging flowers thing ‘n all.”

Adam abruptly set his glass down on the table.

“My God you’re the bloody fake antichrist.”

“Whawazzat?”

“Nothing! Only I think I really _do_ know these people. You nanny, she didn’t drive a really old black Bentley, did she?”

.

“Angel, I feel a disturbance in the force.”

Aziraphale slid his reading glasses down his nose and shot Crowley a very dubious look over the top of the little wire wrapped lenses.

“I _do_ whish you would stop quoting these terrible movies, my dear.”

Crowley, having paused in his evening gardening pep talk[15], spray bottle in hand, shot Aziraphale his own brand of withering glare where he was sat on the sofa.

“These movies aren’t _dreadful_ , they’re a cultural milestone. In five hundred years’ time, it’ll be like Romeo and Juliet all over again, remember that? _I_ said it was a moving play about fate and love and bound to become a classic for the ages, and _you_ said – “

“-and I said ‘who in five hundred years’ time will want to hear about two teenagers bringing their own death upon them in the dumbest fashion imaginable just for a roll in the hay’, I do remember, my dear.”

Crowley puffed his chest triumphantly and got back to misting his orchids.

“And I really _did_ feel a…something. A disturbance.”

Aziraphale put down his book and furrowed his brow[16].

“What kind of disturbance? Not something coming from – “ He pointedly rolled his eyes in the direction of the potato cellar. “- _down below_?”

Crowley let himself fall down onto the sofa next to Aziraphale with a satisfying ‘ _oof’_.

“Nah. They would’ve called. Or abused my record player and poor Mister Mercury featuring Chopin's Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy again.” He shrugged and simultaneously knotted himself into a very small ball. Aziraphale picked up his book again and lifted his arm to make room for Crowley to lean against him. “Dunno what it was. Probably not important anyways.”

“Probably just Adam’s found his first girlfriend or something.”, Aziraphale said absentmindedly. He licked his finger and turned the page. Crowley shuddered against him.

“By Beelzebub, I hope not.” He grabbed the television remote from off the couch table and began to click through the channels. “It’s probably nothing.”

Aziraphale hummed in agreement.

“Well then, what say you we open that bottle of Chardonnay we’ve been meaning to get at and make us a nice evening with the rest of the chocolate macarons we picked up in London yesterday, hm?”

“Sounds delightful, Angel. And if trouble does come knocking…”

Aziraphale smiled.

“We’ll kindly tell it to fuck off.”

[1] Things like “Put your hands up, Nazi swine!” or “Rebellion is futile!” or a quick jingle followed by a voice of undetermined gender and age singing “MMM I’M LOVIN’ IT”, to name just a few.

[2] Warlock had been brought before the court as a witness in his parents’ post-divorce lawsuit over their extensive collection of taxidermized crocodile heads; when asked who he, personally, thought they should belong to, he recited a couplet he had learned from Nanny Ashtoreth. The verdict was that the whole collection be given to a museum, as it was technically illegal in the first place because of the endangered nature of almost all the unfortunate subjects, but Mr. and Mrs. Dowling may each keep one piece under the condition that Warlock see a therapist, which opened a whole other can of worms.

[3] Or, more accurately these days: Mr. Dowling and Miss Miller.

[4] On paper, their schedules actually were very similar, but like Warlock, Adam had a certain penchant for visiting lectures he did not, strictly, _have_ to attend. Unlike Warlock, Adam made sure to attend these lectures in addition to Earth Sciences, not instead. Also unlike Warlock, Adam wasn’t hyper fixated on one specific subject. He seemingly went to everything except Theology and Religion, where he was no longer welcome after he had broken out in loud laughter during a lecture on Creation and then argued with the Professor that the Angel of the Eastern Gate was, in fact, a bit of a wuss. 

[5] 1\. Start out with more money than you’re planning to end up with. 2. Come from a rich family, or, failing that, at least not a poor one. 3. Never tell your workers how much of the company profits goes into your own salary. 4. Have a better lawyer than the people suing you. 5. Intercept the letters with job offers your PR manager gets from other companies and burn them immediately.

[6] King James Bible, John 2:7-11 in the original text: Jesus saith unto them, Fill the waterpots with water. And they filled them up to the brim. And he saith unto them, Draw out now, and bear unto the governor of the feast. And they bare it. When the ruler of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, and knew not whence it was: (but the servants which drew the water knew;) the governor of the feast called the bridegroom, And saith unto him, Every man at the beginning doth set forth good wine; and when men have well drunk, then that which is worse: but thou hast kept the good wine until now.This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of Galilee, and manifested forth his glory; and his disciples believed on him. King James Bible, John 2:7-11, in Adam’s edition, read: Jesus saith unto them, Fill the waterpots with water. And they filled them up to the brim. And he saith unto them, Draw out now, and bear unto the governor of the feast. And they bare it. When the ruler of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, he doth complain about the bouquet and said unto the servants, Doth bringeth a new bottle. And whilst the servants made haste, the governor of the feast called upon the bridegroom and said, as was his habit, See that though not payest the kitchen the price unto their service, for it was Bad. And the governors name was Professor Mills.

[7] Adam never even noticed that his clothes needed washing. He simply picked up whatever was in his reach, presumed that it was clean, and it always was.

[8] Pepper’s mother blamed all of her big mistakes in life on a lack of communication. For example, the group who had organized the tent camp on the field that was Pepper’s place of birth had failed to communicate both the weather forecast and the outbreak of slimy nose infection among the sheep. Pepper’s father, another one of her mother’s big mistakes, had failed to communicate that he still lived with his parents and was wanted by the police for several charges of identity theft. The company Pepper’s mother worked for failed to communicate that the starting salary for a man in Pepper’s mother’s position would have been twice as high. Growing up, Pepper was encouraged to communicate everything that came across her mind, and also to always get a second opinion on anything a man presented as given fact. 

[9] He _had_ been a warrior, and quite a fierce one, once upon a time. They didn’t give that position at the Eastern Gate to just _anybody_ , which was something everyone somehow always seemed to forget.

[10] Adam couldn‘t understand how anyone missed the memo about _anyone_. When Adam looked at people, he understood what kind of person they were, and that most of humanity needed a few extra pointers had completely escaped his notice. 

[11] Pepper’s standards included Anathema, who, even after giving up her life as a Professional Descendant, still spent every second Sunday tracking Ley Lines and every full moon picking herbs at midnight, Adam, who, even if he wasn’t _weird_ , per say, was also definitely not _normal_ , and Greasy Johnson, who had finally come clean about his tropical fish habit and had started a small, but very successful business painting murals for the backs of Aquariums, which made him, by general consensus, the weirdest person anyone knew in Tadfield.

[12] An entirely correct assessment of the situation.

[13] Which he had, presumably,

[14] Unbeknownst to Warlock, there was a very active gossip mill concerning just what kind of mental illness he was suffering from that prompted a person to dump those kinds of details on the poor working people behind the till who couldn’t run away. One especially bright supermarket employee had even started designs of what would, in a few years’ time, become the very first self-checkout, all in the hopes of never having to speak to Warlock again.

[15] Crowley had stopped feeling the need to scream at his house plants about three years after he and Aziraphale had moved into the cottage. To his great surprise, pep talks and overly chipper motivational speeches seemed to have much the same effect on the state of his greenhouse as his reign of terror had. The plants were mainly relieved he had stopped threatening them with death at every occasion and did absolutely everything in their power to discourage him from taking it up again. The orange tree in the conservatorium carried more fruit than a whole orchard in Spain.

[16] On a different plane of reality, the head of a lion, a jackal and a pied imperial pigeon did the same, with varying levels of success.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is gearing up to complain about the severe overuse of commas in this fic, I would just like to present the following for your consideration: I'm German and I can do what I want. GOSH it feels good to finally post this! After LITERAL YEARS. This fic has been sitting in my drafts for LONGER THAN THE SHOW HAS EXISTED.
> 
> Kudos, Comments, Reviews and Bookmarks are HIGHLY appreciated! Don't be afraid to scream at me through your computer screen!


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